


Big Hands I Know You're the One

by Devilc



Category: The Vampire Diaries
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-05
Updated: 2012-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-29 02:16:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilc/pseuds/Devilc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A curse has rendered Alaric 16 years old.  As far as Damon's concerned, that's not really a problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Big Hands I Know You're the One

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the TVD Hiatus challenge. Prompt was -- _An adult character is suddenly de-aged. Can Alaric call into work with a case of puberty? What is toddler Damon like? What happens when Kat has the mind of a 500 year old Machiavelli, but the body of a 7 year old?_
> 
> Title is taken from The Violent Femmes' "Blister In the Sun"

* * *

"I can't live like this!" Alaric exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air.

"Like what?" Damon made no attempt to disguise his smirk.

Alaric's answering glare said "die in a fire."

"Like what?" Damon poked again. He sprawled on the couch and studied Alaric through his lashes. "Cute as a button?" He'd almost said "a twink?" but that probably would've sent Alaric storming out of the room.

"Oh, fuck you!" Alaric reached for the decanter on the coffee table but Damon leaped off the couch and stayed his hand.

"In this house," Damon said cooly, "we card anybody who doesn't look 21 and you don't --"

Alaric's eyes glowed with rage as he hissed, "You're not being funny."

Damon shrugged, but he didn't release Alaric's hand. "Nope. Maybe not. But _this_?" he gestured at Alaric, " _This_ is."

"Says _you_ ," Alaric growled, snatching his hand back. "You're not the one who's had to call into work every day this week. I'm burning through my sick days, and pretty soon they're going to want to see a doctor's note."

Damon couldn't resist twisting the knife. "Wait," he said in his most concerned voice, "just what have you been calling in sick with, 'Ric?" His voice cracked with laughter as he added, "A bad case of puberty?"

Alaric sighed accusingly, picked up one of Bonnie's grimoires, and leafed through it yet again, as if the answer to the curse-gone-wrong laid on him last week would suddenly choose now to present itself.

"I happen to like the 16 year old 'Ric," Damon purred as he leaned in and ruffled Alaric's hair. "The peach fuzz, the baby cheeks --" he pinched one, earning a reflexive slap on the hand for his trouble, "the fact that you're shorter than me."

"Am not!" Alaric shot to his feet. "Well, _shit_ ," he muttered a moment later.

"What's not to like about being young again?" Damon asked somewhat seriously.

Alaric paced around the room, ticking off the points on his fingers. "Besides the fact that I can't get a drink when I really need one? Everybody who sees my real, authentic ID will think it's fake, my clothes don't fit right --" he gestured at the jeans hanging from his frame, "pimples, the fact that my hands and feet are too big for the rest of me, _and_ the fact that being a teenager means that nobody takes you seriously, so you can't actually _do_ anything useful? What's not to like about being sweet --" his mouth curled as if tasting something bitter, "sixteen again?"

He flounced back down on to the couch and picked up the grimoire once more, as if he meant to open it. A moment later he added in a tiny voice. "Also, I'm so fucking horny all the time, I can't even think straight."

Damon laughed so hard his eyes teared up.

"I'm serious." But Alaric couldn't entirely stop a smile from creeping in around the edges. He set the book down on the coffee table, leaned back against the cushions, and dragged a hand over his face. "Honestly, I don't know how my students manage to learn a damn thing in class."

Damon kept his face and voice neutral as he said, "Bathroom's yours, 'Ric, if you need it."

"You ... you're serious?"

"Yep."

Alaric steepled his hands in thought. "Oh, why the fuck not?" he said a moment later. "You slept with my wife and turned her, and now, together, we slay vampires. It's not like our relationship could possibly get any stranger." He stood and stretched, shirt riding up, exposing a trail of hair leading down from his navel and the blades of his hips. Damon's mouth watered. "Or any less less dignified. Back in five."

Damon met him at the bathroom door. "Actually, 'Ric, I've got a better idea," he drawled, lifting an eyebrow in invitation, and watched as confusion drained away and (shocked) comprehension dawned on Alaric's face.

Damon leaned in and kept his voice low and velvety as he said in Alaric's ear, "Why not? It's not like our relationship could possibly get any stranger or less dignified. Also, I'm good for more than five."

Alaric's mouth opened and closed several times, but no words emerged.

Damon had to admit that he liked Alaric this way -- too shocked (and turned on) to snark.

He darted in and kissed Alaric, a peck, really, except for the part where his tongue darted out and flicked at Alaric's lower lip. He drew back an inch and felt Alaric's breath escape with just the barest hint of a moan behind it.

Oh yeah, Damon definitely liked Alaric this way -- pulse hammering in his throat, eyes positively _glazed_ with want.

He grinned toothily and ducked in for another kiss. A real one, this time. Alaric's mouth tasted every bit as good as Damon thought it would.

"This is _such_ a bad idea," Alaric groaned under his breath when they separated.

Damon shushed him with a finger to his (tender, kiss-swollen, could-feel-his-heart-beating) lips, and said softly, "Don't be silly, 'Ric. You know there's no such thing as a bad idea. There's only poorly executed awesome ones. And when it comes to this?" He arched an eyebrow to emphasise the words. "I've never been accused of poor ... execution." He leaned back in and whispered conspiratorially in Alaric's ear, "Let's get you thinking with the big head again, shall we?"

The violence of Alaric's reaction took even him by surprise. Not that he put up any further resistance in the split second it took him to realize that Alaric was attempting to manhandle him back down the hall and towards the couch.

It represented what he liked best about Alaric anyway -- the veneer of buttoned-up academia over all that pent up aggression.

He let Alaric push him down on to the couch and climb on top, kissing greedily, ferociously. As soon as Alaric's weight fully settled on him, Damon reached up and clenched his ass as he thrust up, grinding their hips together.

"Fuuuuuck," Alaric hissed. "If we keep this up, I'm going to come in my pants."

"Like a 16 year old." Damon couldn't resist.

Alaric glared at him for a moment then laughed. "Y'know," he said as he rocked his hips against Damon, chafing hardness against hardness in a way that felt so good, so raw, that Damon barely kept his fangs in check, "there _was_ something good about being 16. Aim. Shoot. Reload."

Damon groaned happily. This had possibilities. "In that case, we should take it upstairs. School gets out soon and I wouldn't want to scar Stefan for life." A moment later he added, "Bonnie'll be back, too."

Alaric paused and reared up just enough to study the clock ticking away over the mantelpiece. "We've got enough time to --" he pressed his mouth shut as a tremor wracked his body. "I don't think I can actually _climb_ the stairs right now," he gasped when he got his control back.

 _Oh. Well, in that case ...._

Damon's hands flew to the waist of Alaric's jeans. With supernatural speed he unbuckled, unbuttoned, and unzipped, shifting so that Alaric could return the favor, keening slightly under his breath as Alaric's hands went to work down there, the sound as much from the sensation of having another man's hand on his fly, as from the anticipation of what would come next.

The moment they both had their flies open Damon just slid his hand under the waistband of Alaric's wash gray jockeys ( _A loaner from Jeremy_? he wondered) and curled his hand around the seeping cock he could see slanted and straining beneath the thin cotton.

As soon as Damon completed his first stroke, Alaric gave a bone deep groan, surging forward into his Damon's hand as he came with a wracking, full body shudder.

Damon didn't say anything, just gently stroked his hand up and down a few more times as Alaric rode out the final tremors.

"Fuck!" Alaric gasped as soon as he got his breath back and his body stopped involuntarily twitching. His face flamed red with what Damon suspected was as much embarrassment and post-orgasmic flush.

Damon thought about making some sort of barbed remark about Isobel or Jemma and stamina, but bit back on it. Not because he had become Mr. Sensitivity, but because a load in his shorts would not stop Alaric from getting up, cleaning himself up to be decent, and walking out the door. And while he might be coaxed into talking to Damon once again after a few weeks had passed, he would never again do anything like this with Damon. Yeah, it was fun to hurl zingers at Alaric, because he gave as good as he got, but as if snarking at him even compared to fucking him.

Alaric pushed up and reached towards the fly of Damon's boxer briefs, but Damon caught his hand.

"Not yet," he said, and gently pushed a rather baffled Alaric back into a sitting position, and then climbed off the couch.

The look on Alaric's face when Damon knelt between his legs? Priceless. And _hot_. Damon's mouth curved into a smile. "Why the surprised look, 'Ric? You should know by now I'm always the cat who gets the cream."

Alaric groaned and rolled his eyes at the pun, but as soon Damon had his clothes shinnied down enough to allow access, he groaned for other reasons as Damon went to work with his hands and mouth.

"This is the strangest blow job I've ever gotten," Alaric said in a gasping, jittery voice as he carded his hand through Damon's hair.

Damon pulled back and grinned up at him. "That's because it's not a blow job, 'Ric." He took another swipe at Alaric's rapidly re-hardening dick, savoring the taste. "I'm just licking you clean."

Alaric's hand pulled him back as his eyes, hot and molten, drilled into Damon's. Damon felt the cock in his hand pulse and swell a little more with each beat of Alaric's heart. Alaric shut his eyes, blew out a long breath, and loosened the his grip on Damon's hair. "You're killing me," he finally said as he lolled his head back on the couch.

Damon snaked his tongue along the inside of 'Ric's thigh where the skin was the tenderest, causing him to twitch violently and give a choked off bark of laughter. Damon made a mental note about ticklishness as he turned his head and snuffled deeply at the thatch of curls, drinking in the mingled smell of Alaric and sex.

As he pulled back, he made an exaggerated show of lip smacking goodness and replied, "Like I said, I'm cleaning you up. Unless, of course, you _want_ to climb the stairs with a full load of wet and sticky in your shorts."

"What I want is for you to stop being such a fucking prick tease."

Damon laughed. He loved it when Alaric got pissy and pushy. "All in good time," he purred. He leaned forward and licked a long stripe up Alaric's treasure trail as he slid back up the length of his body, stopping only when they were lip to lip. "There --" he began, but never got to add "all clean now" because Alaric cupped his head in both hands and claimed his mouth in a hungry kiss.

When they broke, both panting, Alaric rasped, "Upstairs. Now." He stood and hiked up his underwear and jeans only enough to walk comfortably, not bothering, Damon noticed, with the niceties of buckling, buttoning, or zipping, or even pulling his shirt down enough to cover the portion of his cock that jutted above the waist of his jockys.

Right. Time for some ... sport.

Damon scooped Alaric up, ignoring his shocked screech of protest, and dashed up the stairs.

"Put me down!" Alaric demanded when they reached the landing.

"No," Damon retorted, putting as much "neener" into the single syllable as possible, before sprinting down the hall to his room, dumping Alaric on top of the bed. Shutting the door and stripping naked in a flash, he climbed on top of Alaric, only to to have Alaric roll him, straddling his hips.

Damon reached up and trailed a finger along Alaric's exceptionally pouty looking bottom lip. "You, my friend, are wearing entirely too much."

Alaric jerked his head away from Damon's finger, and in a low, tight, voice, said, "I'm telling you right now, Damon, _ask_ before you do anything else. I'm man enough to roll with your joke of carrying me over the threshold like I'm some girl in a bodice ripper, but surprise me again like that, and you'll really. piss. me. off."

" _Annnnd_?" Damon drawled the word out.

Alaric smiled mildly, too mildly, down at him. "I only _look_ like a horny teenager," he said, voice low and intent. "Piss me off badly enough and I'm more than ready to go home and hump Rosy Palmer all night long if I have to." He climbed off and started shucking his clothes.

Damon rolled on to his side and watched the show. "Right. Gotcha. As horny as a teenager, but experienced enough not to be lead around by your rather impressive dick."

Alaric paused as he stepped out of his jeans and leered at him. "And I'm not even full grown."

Damon's eyes popped open inspite of himself. "You mean --" he blurted.

" _Yep_."

"New plan," Damon said as he sat up in bed, raking his eyes up and down Alaric's body. "First, we're going to screw your brains out so that you can think again. And then I'm going to talk to this other witch I know and see if she can't help lift the curse. And then?" He grinned from ear to ear. " I'm going to enjoy even _more_ of you."

"Promises, promises." Alaric laughed low and throaty as he climbed back on the bed and crawled towards Damon.


End file.
